


Painted Walls of the Heart

by caesiumlight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesiumlight/pseuds/caesiumlight
Summary: How did this happen, Kyungsoo wonders as he watches Yixing navigate his way around the crowd, smiling and beautiful and completely out of reach.





	

How did this happen, Kyungsoo wonders as he watches Yixing navigate his way around the crowd, smiling and beautiful and completely out of reach. 

Baekhyun nudges him discreetly. “You’re staring,” he whispers. “Someone you know?”

“Yes—maybe,” he manages weakly. Yixing’s chatting to Sehun from their side of marketing, he’s sweet and charming and Sehun looks utterly enchanted. Kyungsoo’s chest feels tight. “From a long time ago.”

Baekhyun perks up. “That’s nice, that’s exactly what this is for. Making connections and all that.” 

Kyungsoo shakes his head at Baekhyun’s enthusiasm, and tunes half an ear out as Baekhyun extols the benefits of Exo finally organizing an event where they can meet their M counterparts, he’s been dying to see who’s behind the fashion bit of their magazine on the China side, my goodness has he got an eye for detail, such style, such flair— 

“That’s him,” Kyungsoo interrupts. 

“What?”

“Zitao.” Kyungsoo jerks his chin in the direction of a tall, blond man dressed stylishly in a leather jacket.

“He’s wearing sunglasses indoors,” Baekhyun gasps. “ _I love it._ ”

“Go meet him then.”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Wow, it only took you an eternity to figure that out.”

“Watch me,” Baekhyun bites out, and saunters his way over to where Zitao is refilling his glass of wine. Kyungoo fights a groan as Baekhyun musters a greeting with so much aplomb that even Zitao is taken aback. 

“They’ll get on great, I can tell.” 

Kyungsoo whips his head around, and oh, he really isn’t prepared for this. Yixing looks older, a little thinner, but just as pleasant and perfect. “Hyung,” he stutters out awkwardly.

“Kyungsoo-ah, it _is_ you.” Yixing’s eyes crinkle as if genuinely happy to see him. Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to think. “I don’t believe it, you work at Exo too?”

Kyungsoo opens his mouth to formulate a reply, but Yixing’s Korean is familiar, Yixing’s gentle smile is familiar, everything is painfully familiar and Kyungsoo doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to play the part of good employee and talk niceties with Yixing when his heart is fit to bursting. A part of his brain catalogues how Yixing’s suit jacket hugs his shoulders just right, another part registers that Yixing’s pretty fingers are fiddling with the stem of his champagne flute nervously—but what’s he got to be nervous about?—and the last part is invoking his flight response.

Thankfully, Baekhyun butts in. “Kyungsoo,” he crows. “Meet the fabulous Zitao, from M fashion, but you already knew that! Zitao, this is Kyungsoo, writer extraordinaire! You’ll know him as D.O.”

“Oh, yes!” Zitao nods vigorously, and despite himself, Kyungsoo smiles. Yixing was right, Baekhyun would like him. “I love your work.”

“Thank you,” he says reflexively. 

“We all do,” Yixing adds. “D.O’s words are very lifting.”

Kyungsoo feels his cheeks heating up. Six years down the road and Yixing’s casual compliments still have that undesired effect on him. But they’re interrupted by a man, who slips an arm around Yixing’s waist.

“Lu-ge,” Yixing says warmly. Kyungsoo has to turn away. 

“Duizhang is looking for you.”

“That’s my cue.” Yixing gives their little group a nod, lets his eyes linger slightly longer on Kyungsoo as he says, “It was good seeing you again.”

“You too,” Kyungsoo mumbles, but only when Yixing’s gone too far to hear. 

 

\--

 

They meet in college. And because housing can be a right pain, exchange students like Yixing have to find places to live off campus. 

“My poor music partner,” Chanyeol tells Kyungsoo somberly. “He stays half an hour from school. Has to wake up half an hour earlier than us.”

“He’ll live,” Kyungsoo says dryly. 

“We need to see to it that he does. He’s always lost and confused.”

“Even more so than you? Impressive.”

That’s why Kyungsoo finds himself with Chanyeol at Yixing’s small studio apartment, above an old café, armed with a map of the city with the route to campus highlighted in red, and touristy things to do circled in yellow. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Yixing says gratefully, bowing to them repeatedly. Against his will, Kyungsoo is charmed. “I made cake for you two.”

“You didn’t have to!” Chanyeol gasps, delighted. “But I won’t say no to cake!”

And that’s how Kyungsoo discovers that Yixing’s apartment doesn’t have a refrigerator. 

“What do you mean, you had to use all your eggs?”

“Uh,” Yixing squeaks. “I don’t have a fridge?”

“What.” Kyungsoo’s ready to descend like fire and demand an explanation from the landlady. “That’s unacceptable.”

“It’s okay, really,” Yixing tries, waving placating hands at Kyungsoo. “I’m only here for a year anyway.”

“Unacceptable,” Kyungsoo repeats, steely. “What respectable place doesn’t have a fridge?”

“Unacceptable,” Chanyeol agrees, from where he’s still demolishing Yixing’s cake. 

And that’s when Kyungsoo decides to turn Yixing’s apartment into his own pet project. 

He manages to loan a mini-fridge from an aunt, who claims to have no use of it anymore, and Yixing nearly falls to his knees in thanks. Kyungsoo only succeeds in halting the bowing after promising to take home baked goods for his aunt this weekend. 

And then, Kyungsoo decides that the walls need a good paint-job. 

“Why,” Yixing asks, confused.

“Because they’re white and boring.”

Yixing wants to paint the walls bright purple, and Kyungsoo vehemently disagrees. They spend the next few days furiously texting each other, arguing about the benefits (or in Kyungsoo’s case, the downright atrocities) of turning the living room mauve. 

_Psychedelic headaches._

_Happiness and laughter._

_Blue is better for calm._

Yixing texts him a picture of baby-blue cupcakes, with a caption that reads, _are you calm?_

_Not that blue!_

“Quality conversation,” Chanyeol comments, reading over his shoulder, and Kyungsoo elbows him away. 

In the end, they agree on eminence, a darker shade of purple that Yixing begrudgingly accepts as still purple. And that’s supposed to be that, except that when Kyungsoo’s set his mind on something, he tends to focus on it with a tenacity that Chanyeol likes to term as mildly disturbing. He declares the apartment too bare for proper function. 

So they go furniture hunting. In Ikea, and in street stalls selling old antique chairs, and as a joke, in those fancy stores that incorporate reflective surfaces in every single item of furniture they sell.

And again, that’s supposed to be that, but Kyungsoo finds an excuse to do more. He drops off a relatively new rug his parents don’t want anymore, or drags Yixing out to shop for a cheap painting at the flea market, and pretty soon, Kyungsoo pops off to the apartment whenever he has time to spare. Sometimes, he stays the night. Never mind that it’s half an hour away from campus; Kyungsoo’s classes are in the afternoon, anyway. 

Chanyeol chooses to bring it up late in the term. “I don’t see you anymore.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Not that I mind, I get this room to myself. But you do realize you’re practically living at Yixing’s, don’t you?”

I’m not, he wants to argue, except that he can’t. Because Kyungsoo’s got a toothbrush in Yixing’s bathroom, more than half his clothes are hanging in a cabinet which they got from Ikea, and just yesterday he left his textbooks there and _oh_. He lives there. 

“Oh,” Chanyeol sighs, a little concerned, a little disappointed. “You didn’t realize.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t know what to say. Yixing’s got, what, a month left before he returns to China? What on earth is he doing, playing house like that?

And that’s why Kyungsoo decides to end his pet project, and that’s why Kyungsoo stops visiting, and that’s why he doesn’t even see Yixing when he flies off.

That’s how it happened. 

 

\--

 

“Try not to kill Luhan-ssi with your eyes,” Jongin mutters to him.

Kyungsoo starts. He peels his gaze away from table twelve, where Luhan’s whispering into Yixing’s ear. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Baekhyun smirks. “Spill. He’s not just an old friend, hm?”

“I’m ignoring you,” Kyungsoo says mildly.

Baekhyun mercifully gets distracted by the cart of shiny trophies the organizers pull out on stage. They’re giving out awards for their magazine on day two; nothing serious, mostly for camaraderie and for people to nominate unsuspecting co-workers for giggles. Like the best smile award, which goes to the director of M, Kris, who looks as if smiling is the last thing he wants to be doing at the moment. Table twelve collectively erupts, and with one large hand hiding his face, Kris does the walk of shame to the front. 

There’s a best dressed award, which unsurprisingly goes to Zitao, and it’s followed by the most popular award, which gets handed out to Baekhyun. He bounces up excitedly to loud cheers from the crowd. 

“Thank you, thank you very much.” Baekhyun clutches the little trophy like they do at the Oscars. “It’s such an honour, really, so many people have contributed to this. I’d like to thank—”

Amidst the laughter Baekhyun arouses, Kyungsoo turns to Jongin. “How long do we have here?”

“The event ends tomorrow.”

“I mean, in Shanghai.”

“Company’s giving us till the end of this week to look around, mingle if we want to. I thought you weren’t going to take it.”

He wasn’t. He had even complained to Junmyeon for sending him to the event in the first place, citing the number of articles he was due to complete. But when he tried to work on them last night, in the hotel after the dinner, all that came to mind were Yixing and his kind words. He couldn’t bring himself to write anything after, and he guesses the next few days (weeks, months) might well go the same way.

Jongin raises an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo says. 

Jongin follows his line of sight to where it rests on Yixing, clapping and smiling. His tone turns a touch devilish. “For inspirational purposes?” 

“Oh shut up,” Kyungsoo grouses, forcibly swivelling his attention back to where Baekhyun is now blowing kisses into the crowd.

 

\--

 

Their magazine’s popular because it’s got variety. They’ve got sections on the latest fashion trends, articles on local food, art, and culture, some aunt agony columns here and there, and photos of must-see places in Korea or China paired with short stories by their various writers. Right now, Chanyeol’s in Hwaseong, doing research for a piece on traditional music and folk dance, and therefore missing the event. Kyungsoo lets slip that Yixing happens to be working for Exo too, what a coincidence, isn’t it, and Chanyeol suffers a dramatic meltdown.

 _This is so unfair I want to see Yixing hyung too_ , he whines— _whines_ , because Kyungsoo can tell even through text. _Here’s an idea, you can facetime him for me!_

_No, how awkward can that get?_

_Uh, Yixing and I are so tight why would it be awkward?_

Kyungsoo finds himself in an exceptional situation in which he’s unable to argue—with _Chanyeol_ , of all people. So he tugs Yixing into a corner of the ballroom on the last day of the event, after the closing speeches are over and the guests are milling out. 

“Hi,” he begins, oddly out of breath.

“Hi?” Yixing says, tilting his head in that achingly familiar manner.

“Chanyeol wanted to see you, he was really upset that he couldn’t come, now that he knows you’re here.”

“I am!” Chanyeol’s voice booms from the speaker. “Yixing hyung, I’ve missed you!”

“Chanyeol-ah!” Yixing’s eyes curve up, and there’s the dimple. He waves at the screen eagerly, and Chanyeol waves back, mimes hugging him. “Why aren’t you here? Where are you!”

Kyungsoo listens to them converse animatedly, Chanyeol telling Yixing about Pungmul and how he’d absolutely love it, and Yixing promising to come visit so that Chanyeol can take him to a show, and all Kyungsoo can think about is how comfortable they are with each other. It’s irrational to be jealous when the blame of their strained relationship rests entirely on him. Kyungsoo takes back the phone mutely when Yixing’s done. 

“Chanyeol looks well,” Yixing says happily. “I’m so thankful I got to see the both of you again.”

“You are?” It slips out before he can stop himself. “Even me?”

Yixing’s taken aback, but his eyes soften before Kyungsoo can apologize for being rude. “Especially you,” he admits. 

Kyungsoo’s pulse stutters. He stares at Yixing, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand. Why would you, after what I—”

“We had a good time, didn’t we?” Yixing interrupts gently. “Back then?”

Kyungsoo pauses, recalling how they haggled with street vendors for little trinkets to decorate Yixing’s apartment with, how they fell asleep together on the couch watching ridiculous dramas at three in the morning. “We did.”

Yixing smiles, but it’s sad around the edges. “Anyway, you’ll be going back to Korea soon, right?”

Kyungsoo hears Chanyeol yelling in his head: this is it, this is your chance to do something, to make amends. In truth, he’s never been one for spontaneous plans, but he wants to try. For Yixing. “Not just yet,” he blurts out. “The company’s given us a couple of days. It’s not much, and I wasn’t going to take it, but.”

“You changed your mind?” Yixing supplies hopefully.

A nod, and Yixing beams, so bright and beautiful that he sucks in a breath. “Thing is…” Kyungsoo trails off sheepishly. “This is really last minute, so I don’t have accommodation. Maybe you could recommend a place?”

“Stay with me,” Yixing says in beat.

Kyungsoo blinks. 

“I have a spare room,” Yixing fumbles, his cheeks dusted pink. “I’ve got work, but I can still take you to some places, and this way you don’t have to bother with looking. I mean, only if you want to.”

Is this safe, is this wise—Kyungsoo’s lost the will to care. “I want to,” he says softly. 

Yixing reaches out, palm upward, a hesitant offering. “Then let’s go.”

Kyungsoo takes the proffered hand, and reminds himself that some things should be held onto tighter. 

 

\--

 

The car ride back to Yixing’s is stressful, to say the least. And that’s not taking into account the number of times Yixing placidly lets people cut in front of him. He barely reacts when yet another driver swerves violently into their lane. Kyungsoo resigns himself to the fact that Yixing has the patience of a saint, in more aspects than one.

The nighttime traffic slows their progress to a snail’s crawl. Kyungsoo wrings his hands, deliberating what to say to fill the silence, when Yixing mentions his pen name. 

“My supervisor gave it to me. He thought it matched my writing. Two syllables. Concise. Emphatic.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that impressive. I’m willing to bet he actually meant short. And blunt.”

Yixing laughs. “That’s not a bad thing. People appreciate honest writing.”

As they do honesty, Kyungsoo knows, and it’s what he owes Yixing at the very least. But bringing up the past when Yixing seems content to let it lie feels like he’s picking at a wound that has already scabbed over. Kyungsoo stays quiet. 

“I write under Lay.”

Kyungsoo mentally sifts through some of the works he’s seen from M side. Something clicks in his head, like a book placed back in its proper place. “You did Tears Airport.”

Yixing looks flustered, shifting his gaze to Kyungsoo for a second, before focussing back on the road in front of him. “You read it?”

“You wrote about saying goodbye at an airport, which you saw as a merciless place.”

“I can’t believe you remember that. It’s one of my earlier ones.” Yixing shakes his head. “It was pretty cheesy.” 

“It wasn’t. It really moved me.” 

“Thank you,” Yixing says, sounding surprised.

How much of that was based on personal experience, Kyungsoo wants to ask, how much drawn from the time you flew back to China from Korea, but Yixing doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he smiles at Kyungsoo when they arrive, takes his bags, and leads him to the guest room. Whispers a warm _good night_ , and leaves him to his thoughts.

Kyungsoo stares up at the ceiling, at the walls painted a distinct shade of purple—eminence, his mind supplies—and tries to quell the guilt and regret threatening to spill out of his eyes.

 

\--

 

“Let’s go to Nanjing Road. It’s easy to navigate, so I don’t have to worry about you getting lost when I leave for work.”

Kyungsoo huffs. “You were the directionally-challenged one, if I remember correctly.”

“I no longer need a map, if that counts?”

“I suppose it does,” he concedes, recalling how Yixing marched around town with his eyes glued to the map they gave him for the first three weeks. 

“I’ll take that,” Yixing grins. He skips out of the apartment in excitement, and the fondness in Kyungsoo’s chest multiplies tenfold. 

They order _xiao long bao_ for breakfast, and Yixing watches with barely concealed amusement as Kyungsoo forgoes his chopsticks and uses two spoons to lift them up for fear of bursting them open. 

“Next time, I’ll get you the _tang bao_ instead. You can drink the soup out of the bun directly with a straw.”

Next time, Kyungsoo hears. There’ll be a next time. 

Yixing ignores the enormous malls on Nanjing Road, and ducks into the smaller street stores. There’s an assortment of every single kind of souvenir Kyungsoo can possibly think of, from jewellery to straw bags to stamps that the vendors would etch your name into for a fee. Kyungsoo’s enamoured. He wants to protest when Yixing pulls him away from a purchase. 

“Not this one,” Yixing murmurs. “They sell them cheaper a block down.” 

With a pang, he’s reminded of when they roamed the Myeongdong shopping district in Seoul, and it was Kyungsoo, then, who had to stop Yixing from buying the first items he saw. Yixing deposits him at another store selling paper fans. 

“I have to go, Duizhang has probably noticed my disappearance by now,” he winces. “Think you can manage on your own here?”

“I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

“No,” Yixing says thoughtfully. “Not anymore.”

“I also have Google maps.”

Yixing snorts. “Why was I even worried? See you back home, then.”

It isn’t until Kyungsoo’s wandered another block, and picked out a wooden carving of a guitar for Chanyeol, that he realizes what Yixing had said.

Home.

It hadn’t even pinged Kyungsoo’s radar, as if it were an entirely natural thing for Yixing to say to him. A grand total of four days was all it took for Kyungsoo to fall back into the routine of six years ago. He’d be exasperated with himself, except this time, the tumultuous rushing in his head sounds a lot less uncertain.

 

\--

 

“I’ve got to show Junmyeon hyung something for my unplanned vacation.”

Yixing squints at his list. “If you had a month, I’d tell you to visit all of these.” 

“But I don’t,” Kyungsoo says, prodding. For what, he’s not entirely sure. 

“You don’t.” Yixing stifles a sigh. “Yuyuan garden then, I think it’s something you’d like. It’s only about twenty minutes from here, but it’ll take up a good portion of your day.” 

“Sounds fine.” 

Yixing slings his messenger bag up. “You should leave early too. You’ll get a bit of the garden to yourself before the crowds appear.” He pauses at the door. “Have a good time.”

“See you tonight,” Kyungsoo says, in a burst of daring.

Yixing’s answering smile is worth it. “See you tonight.”

The garden is massive, and he’s daunted by the number of pavilions to visit. Kyungsoo snaps pictures of the temple roofs and the carvings on the dragon walls, and feeds bits of crackers to the fish in the inner garden pond. He jots down notes for the article he intends to compose for Junmyeon, but when more people file in, after lunch, he finds himself too distracted to write. Instead, Kyungsoo allows himself to be swept along, simply taking in the detail of the architecture and the beauty of the greenery. 

Yixing was right. He likes it. 

Kyungsoo leaves sometime before the evening, and makes a trip to the Korean supermart close by Yixing’s place. He figures he could make some dinner, partly because Yixing’s been nothing but a gracious host, partly because Yixing might miss Korean food, and mostly because he just wants to cook for Yixing. 

Kimchi jjigae is something he can manage even in a foreign kitchen. He’s lowering the pot to a simmer when Yixing returns. 

Kyungsoo holds out a spoon for Yixing. “Taste?”

Yixing stiffens for a second, and Kyungsoo falters, thinking he’s overstepped. But then Yixing leans forward deliberately, and eats from the spoon. “Divine,” he says, closing his eyes for emphasis. 

“Oh stop it. I wouldn’t call plain old stew divine.”

“It’s divine,” Yixing insists. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

Kyungsoo flushes, and busies himself with setting out bowls and cutlery. He shows Yixing’s pictures from the afternoon, and regales him with how his favourite koi, the golden one with two black spots on its head, kept swimming back for more crumbs. Yixing makes him promise to include that in his article. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Yixing says when they’re done, but it sounds slightly strained. “No, _no_ —you don’t get to clean up too.”

“I will unless you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Yixing’s quiet, and then, “It’ll just make it harder.”

“What?”

“You cooking. Or doing the dishes. It’ll just make it harder for me when you leave again.”

 _When_. Not _if_. 

Kyungsoo realizes that regardless of whether he had to return to Korea or not, Yixing would’ve expected him to leave anyway. Because it’s what he did before. 

That doesn’t sit right with him. But the frustrating thing is that he doesn’t have a choice this time.

“I don’t want to leave,” he confides, vulnerable but truthful. He reaches over the table, and tentatively covers Yixing’s hand with his. “Does that count for something at least?”

The small smile Yixing offers is something Kyungsoo will work to become deserving of. “It does.”

 

\--

 

Yixing insists on skiving work on Friday, in spite of how hard Kyungsoo tries to convince him otherwise.

“Jongdae and Minseok hyung are covering for me,” Yixing tells him conspiratorially. “They also gave me tickets to an acrobatic performance tonight.”

“How do you have such nice co-workers? All I ever get from Baekhyun are the green skittles.”

“Uh,” Yixing mumbles, his cheeks red, “they might have thought I was going on a date?”

“Aren’t you?” Kyungsoo asks innocently. 

Yixing blinks, and a myriad of emotions pass across his face, confusion then comprehension then tremulous delight. “Right you are,” he says, slightly bashful but pleased. “Food, first?”

“Food first,” Kyungsoo agrees.

Yixing takes him to a stall selling eel noodles, and they sit on wobbly plastic chairs at the side of the street. While waiting for their order, Yixing lists out the dozen or so eel dishes Shanghai is famous for.

“You sound like our magazine,” Kyungsoo says, impressed. 

“I could probably give you a history lesson of the street we’re currently on.”

“Go ahead,” Kyungsoo encourages, partly because he’s interested, partly because he likes listening to Yixing talk.

Since it’s a vacation and Kyungsoo wants to eat his weight’s worth, he buys himself radish fritters for desert. He holds them up for Yixing periodically on the walk back to the car, purposely misjudging the distance and smearing sauce all over his chin. Yixing retaliates by taking humongous bites and calling him a brat. It only makes Kyungsoo happier.

They visit the Longhua Temple next, where Yixing insists on paying both their entrance fees. They wander around the different halls, and Kyungsoo takes pictures of the golden painted statues. 

“You need one with yourself in it.”

Yixing arranges Kyungsoo strategically in front of the pagoda, and clucks his tongue when other tourists step into the background of the photo. It makes Kyungsoo laugh, and the picture that comes out has him with his eyes half closed and mouth wide open.

“Give that to me,” Kyungsoo gasps. “Delete it!”

“Nope,” Yixing says cheerfully, holding the camera out of reach. “I’m framing this one up.”

They lose track of time and nearly forget about their evening show, and Kyungsoo discovers Yixing can drive like a monster when he has to. They arrive at the theatre with barely two minutes to spare, and pick their way across a good number of disgruntled people to get to their seats. 

“You’re going to love this,” Yixing whispers, as the acrobats somersault onto stage. He excitedly looks to Kyungsoo for signs of approval after particularly daring stunts, and grins fiercely whenever he sees Kyungsoo clapping. It’s unbearably endearing.

He enjoys himself; the show is clever and colourful and spectacularly difficult, but Kyungsoo finds his attention drifting to the slope of Yixing’s cheek, rendered soft in the dim red lights, like a peach at its ripest. 

They have roasted duck for dinner at a restaurant near the Bund. The walk down the promenade in the night is refreshing, a nice change from the afternoon heat. Yixing points out the famous buildings lining the river, and Kyungsoo lets his words wash over him, a tether in an unfamiliar place. Kyungsoo tangles their fingers together. 

Eventually, they have to return, because Kyungsoo’s been procrastinating and hasn’t yet packed. But as they step through the door, and the purple walls greet him, the heaviest sense of nostalgia settles in his gut. He sees a younger version of themselves returning to the same coloured walls in a studio apartment in Seoul, after a late night study session at the library, or a post-exam drinking celebration. It’d be the two of them, stumbling through the door together, laughing and sated. Kyungsoo thinks of wasted time, and the weight of six years of silence comes crashing back. 

“What’s wrong?” Yixing asks gently. Kyungsoo hasn’t moved from the doorway. 

“Why did you paint your walls this colour?” Or why does this place remind him of home. Why does he feel more grounded in a city with unfamiliar faces and names and buildings than in one whose streets he knows like the back of his hand. 

“I tried others,” Yixing shrugs. “They didn’t work. I always came back to this.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, we had a good time, didn’t we? It wasn’t easy to let go. I didn’t just want to forget.” Yixing smiles, a little self-deprecating, a little sad. “Luhan said I was an idiot.”

“You weren’t the idiot,” Kyungsoo says, lowly.

“Am I not?” Yixing sighs. “I do this with you even though it’s like reopening an old wound, because you’re leaving and there’s nothing I can do about it—”

_(because I’m not enough to make you stay)_

Kyungsoo crosses the floor urgently, and grasps Yixing by the arms. “It wasn’t you,” he says, desperate for Yixing to listen. This is the explanation Yixing deserves. “When I finally came to terms with why I was so invested in your apartment, you had a month left before you were going to leave.” 

He’d grown so comfortable with Yixing that the imminent departure felt like the burgeoning of a hurricane. He hadn’t wanted to be the wreck that the storm left in its wake.

“So you left first,” Yixing says, not accusing, just tired. 

In a rare fight that occurred after he refused to go to the airport, Chanyeol had called Kyungsoo selfish. Kyungsoo had agreed. “I ran away because I was scared of being left behind. I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Yixing hyung.”

Yixing sucks in a laboured breath, and Kyungsoo feels unsteady with trepidation. But then this kind, patient man reaches forward to thumb his jaw, tenderness in his touch. “It’s been a long time. I forgive you.”

“I was the idiot.”

“You were a kid.”

“But I’m not anymore, you said so yourself. I know what I want now.”

Yixing considers him. “What do you want?”

“I want to give this a try.”

Yixing’s mouth twists with resignation. “Don’t say things like that when you’re leaving tomorrow, Kyungsoo-ah.”

“I’ll find my way back to you, if you give me this chance. Yixing, please.” Ignoring the trembling in his own fingers, Kyungsoo takes both of Yixing’s hands in his. “Give me a chance.”

Ever so slowly, Yixing relaxes, leans into him. He exhales shakily, but Kyungsoo sees the beginnings of a smile on his face. “You’re not going to take six more years?”

“Promise I won’t.”

 

\--

 

“No tears at this airport,” Kyungsoo says at the departure gate. 

Yixing looks at him carefully. “Why’s that?”

“Because this isn’t goodbye.” Kyungsoo presses his lips to Yixing's, and as he pulls away, knows for certain that he’d traverse the distance between them, over and over and over.

 

\--

 

“Well?”

“It’s… good. Actually, it’s _very_ good. The garden of happiness. You do come off a little mopey though.”

“That’s because it’s unfinished.”

“And what would it take for it to become finished?”

Kyungsoo shrugs. “Sabbatical to Shanghai, maybe.”

Junmyeon narrows his eyes, and then he scoffs. “For inspirational purposes, I’m guessing.”

Kyungsoo’s going to have a nice chat with Jongin after this. “Perhaps.”

“This better be worth it.”

He knows what he wants now, Kyungsoo had told Yixing. And he knows what he has to do to get it. He’s not a kid, no longer. “It will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Whew the Kyungsoo/Lay fic I’ve been wanting to write for a time now! This was new for me, so I really hope you enjoyed. Would love to know what you think!


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